He was gone.
“Is it true the Hunter Kane Band signed a twenty-million-dollar deal for their world tour?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Is Hunter inside the car?” A camera clicked behind her. “Hunter, are you in there?”
One after another, the questions fired. The voices got louder, became more forceful, and multiplied. An intense energy pressed closer, the heat of bodies surrounded her, making it difficult to navigate her surroundings—figure a way out.
Muttley pressed his body aggressively against her legs in aLet’s blow this joint, Mommove.
Mackenzie wanted to leave, fast, but she was turned around. Didn’t know which way the car was. Or where her driver had disappeared to. Or if the car was even still there.
“Mike?” She called out to him again, but she couldn’t hear anything over the shouting. Or maybe it was the pounding of her heart, so loud and erratic she put her hand to her chest to keep it from bursting.
The smell of wet asphalt and hot breath made her stomach churn, and a dark wave of panic wrapped around her, making it hard to breathe. Out of habit, she widened her eyes over and over, praying that if she got them wide enough she’d suddenly be able to see again.
All that greeted her was blackness. And fear.
It was like she was back in the hospital, opening her eyes for the first time only to realize that darkness was her new reality.
“Back up,” she demanded, putting an arm in front of her and swinging her purse at the reporters. “I need some space.”
And air. God, she needed air. But the only thing she could seem to get was little bursts of oxygen.
Muttley’s bark turned to low, guttural growls, as if he sensed her panic.
“It’s okay, boy,” she whispered, but it wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot. Something Muttley was picking up on.
Circling her body protectively, he put himself between her and the press.
This was why she avoided crowded places. The unpredictability of it all was terrifying. There she was, stuck in the middle of a mob, unableto see what was happening or sense what was headed her way. Unable to soothe her dog.
This—right here—was her biggest nightmare.
“Back off! You’re scaring my dog,” she yelled and turned her head to aim it at the loudest voice. A hard object collided with her cheek. Bright lights flashed behind her eyelids, followed by an acute ache that wrapped its way around her.
Mackenzie gasped, and her handbag crashed to the ground. Muttley yanked on his harness, lunging toward and snarling at the reporters.
“Jesus,” a male reporter yelled, followed by the sound of a camera crashing to the ground. “He nearly bit my hand off!”
“Only because you were shoving it in his face!” she yelled.
“You need to control him,” he said, and Muttley let out another bark. She didn’t have to see to know the reporter had leaped back.
Mackenzie was torn between praising Muttley and crying when camera shutters fired in rapid succession, no doubt getting a shot of Muttley foaming at the mouth and baring his teeth. She could already hear the headlines: KANE’SNEWWOMAN:ASRABID ASHERDOG.
Even worse, she could anticipate exactly what the guide dog foundation would do when they saw the pictures. And they would see them. Nothing said front-page gossip quite like a celebrity’s crazy girlfriend assaulting the paparazzi with her attack dog.
“I should sue,” the man said.
“Randy, if anyone has a complaint, it would be the lady you’re harassing,” a strong and commanding voice said from behind them.
Hunter.
Mackenzie’s panic turned to relief as she felt all the energy turn from her to Hunter.
“Every judge in this town knows you have an issue with personal space,” Hunter said and slid his arm around Mackenzie’s waist. “Now give us some room orIwill be pressing charges.”
